Mad Love
by mirifaery
Summary: Christine Daae, psychiatrist, starts her career off with a bang when she's given a high-profile case that no one else wants. Erik is a psychopath and a genius. He plays with her emotions, and she becomes the centerpiece of his twisted obsession. *ON HIATUS FOR REPAIRS*
1. Erik

"All right, Richard, what did you call me down here for? It's my day off and I intended to spend it_ not working._"

Richard de Changey glanced over at his lovely young colleague and hid a smile at her adorable irritation. Christine Daae's long blond hair had been twisted hurriedly up into a bun and she wore a plain T- shit and a pair of blue jeans with holes in the knees. She did not look like she had graduated top of her class barely a year ago.

"Sorry, Christine, but this guy just came in, and I think you might want to take a look at him."

Christine sighed. "Can't you handle him?" she said pathetically, although Richard knew she didn't mean a word of it. If anyone was the poster-girl for job devotion, it was Christine.

"Just go and talk to him, Chrissy. Okay?"

Christine smiled tiredly. "Okay," she said. "Where is this mystery guy?"

"Down in cell three. Be careful, though, he's a bit...unhinged."

This elicited a laugh from Christine. "Please, Richard. I'm a psychiatrist, 'unhinged' is what I deal in."

"This one's a little different," Richard said. "Really, watch yourself in there."

Christine threw him her dazzling smile. "Don't worry," she said. She pulled a battered composition book from her purse and stuck a pen in the her mess of blond curls and headed down the hallway, muttering softly two herself. Richard followed behind.

Cell three was at the end of the hall. Behind the glass, Christine could see a man sitting at the table. He sat ramrod straight, long hands folded on the table. Christine shot Richard a curious glance, but opened the door anyway and went in.

The man at the table looked up when she entered, staring her down with unnerving golden eyes. His face was covered by a black silk mask and he was dressed impeccably in an expensive suit. His very black hair was smoothed back from his face and his abnormally long hands were covered in pristine white gloves. Christine looked at him, slightly confused. Compared to the other patients she had seen in this facility, there seemed to be nothing wrong with him. He studied her with an unwavering gaze, no emotion evident in those odd eyes.

"Hello," said Christine in a calm, even voice. "I'm Christine."

"And I am Erik," replied the man. His voice sent shivers down Christine's spine; it was deep and musical and eerily beautiful. Just listening to him speak made her mind go a little fuzzy; she wondered vaguely how his voice might sound if he was singing. _Snap out of it!_ she said to herself. _You're a professional! Get yourself together, woman!_

"So, Erik," she said, her voice completely unshaken, "would you mind telling me why you think you're here?" She pulled her pen from her curls and looked up at him seriously.

His mouth – the only unmasked portion of his face – quirked up into an amused smile. She sat back, a little offended. "Well, I'm not entirely sure," he said, his velvety voice sounding a little sardonic, "but I'm quite sure it's because I killed a man and your friend over there who is hovering anxiously by the door -" Here Christine glanced over and saw Richard standing by the window, looking in with a concerned expression. " - is under the impression that I am insane."

Christine looked blankly at him for a second. "Excuse me," she said after a moment, and went out the door. "Richard," she hissed, "what are you doing?"

"Feeling guilty," he said. "I don't think I should have told you about him."

Christine frowned. "Go back up front; you're just making me uncomfortable hanging over me like this. You don't need to worry."

"Are you sure?" Richard said uneasily.

Christine smiled. "Perfectly. Go on, I'm fine."

"Well...alright..." With several glances backwards, he left her standing outside Erik's cell. Christine turned and went back into the cell. Erik was leaning languidly back in his chair, his lips twitching. He looked more amused than ever.

"Did you get that sorted out?" he wanted to know.

Christine frowned at him. "I'm supposed to be the one asking the questions here, Mr..." She paused and looked down at the file Richard had given her. "Mr...Er, do you have a last name?"

"I don't," said Erik, almost cheerfully.

"Oh. Alright, then..." Christine was more than a little flustered but she didn't let it show. Or at least, she thought she didn't, but Erik's smile widened. "Why do you say that Dr. de Changey believes you're insane?"

"Well, I'm here, aren't I?" he said simply.

Christine blinked in surprise. This conversation was rather unsettling. "Do _you _think you're insane?"

"That's all relative, isn't it?" Erik said. "Whether or not I think I am insane is not relevant because if I indeed were insane, my perception of reality would be – shall we say – a little warped, wouldn't it? And therefore my definition of insane would be quite different from yours."

"Yes, I suppose it would," Christine said, growing even more confused with each passing second. She opened the manila folder. "Why exactly did you kill that man, Erik?"

He shrugged, black cloth rippling over his broad shoulders. "Oh, no reason really. It's not that important."

"But it is," Christine insisted. She tapped the end of her pencil against her lip. "Did he do anything to you? Insult you?"

"No. I told you, Miss Daae, there was no reason."

She leaned her chin on her hand. "Have you ever killed anyone before?"

"Well, of course I have. Isn't it obvious?" He looked down his nose at her, the corners of his mouth turning up into a smile. "Come, Miss Daae, you're supposed to be a professional."

Christine frowned. "You have no record. There isn't anyone with your name in our computer system. All the information I've got on you is in this file." She tapped it with her fingernail. "So forgive me if I seem a bit uninformed."

Erik laughed outright. "Oh, I like this," he said, more to himself than to her. "Miss Daae. Joseph Buquet was the thirty-second man I've killed. The refined art of assassination is not one I'm unfamiliar with."

"I see," Christine said. She tugged on a strand of hair and scribbled a few notes in the folder. "Excuse me." She stood and tucked the folder under her arm. "I'll be back in the morning."

"I can't think I'll be going anywhere," Erik replied with a smile. Christine hurried out of the cell, clutching the folder to her chest.

"Well?" said Richard anxiously. Christine sighed and ran her hands through her hair, which was coming loose from its messy bun. She hated making assumptions after speaking barely ten minutes to a suspect, she really did, but she didn't see thatshe had much of a choice. There was an overwhelming amount of evidence and it was beginning to give her a headache. She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes.

"There's obvious psychopathic tendencies. Might have another personality disorder, too – borderline, maybe, or manic depressive. I'm not sure. I'm going to have to talk to him some more." She wrapped her arms around herself. "He...he unnerves me, Richard. I've talked to psychopaths before but something about this man...It's like he knows what I'm going to say before I say it. Or he's five thousand times cleverer than me and knows it. He's...toying with me. He's holding things back on purpose. I think...I think he thinks of it as sort of a game."

Richard put an arm about her shoulders. "C'mon, Chris, it can't be all that bad. D'you want to get a drink? I was about to close down for the night. Maybe a drink or two would cheer you up. Hm?"

Christine smiled thinly. Why not? she thought. It's not like I'll be getting much sleep tonight anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yeah...Don't ask. I have no lack of plot bunnies these days. I wanted to do something a little more grown-up this time. Sorry if I've made a mistake - I'm not a psychiatrist. My knowledge of psychiatry comes from television, books I've read, and a little bit of research I've done. I'll do more research, don't worry. Just wanted to get it all off my chest. XD**

***Miri **


	2. Tracked

Christine had been right; she hardly slept a wink. She left Richard at the bar after having only three drinks to go home and read Erik's file. There wasn't much to read, only a few lines about height (6'5", Christine thought incredulously, _6'5"_), weight, hair color, and eye color. She nearly put it through the paper shredder in irritation. She tried a Google search and managed to glean a few more kernels of information: He had been arrested once on six counts of murder and one of kidnapping but had somehow been acquitted.

She gave up around eleven after finding nothing more on him. She changed into her pajamas and crawled into bed, feeling exhausted. She had hoped to fall asleep right away. But each time she closed her eyes, she saw a pair of yellow irises, as though they had been burned into her mind. Once, after midnight, when she had finally drifted off, she dreamed that he followed her down a hall of mirrors, luring her to him in that voice which was too beautiful to be real. The floor in the dream was made of a stone nearly as reflective as the mirrors, and she could she his shapeless black image all around her. All at once the mirrors shattered and then he was coming for her, those long skeletal hands reaching for her through the darkness. She woke shuddering and drenched in cold sweat. She stumbled out of her bed into the bathroom and turned on a scalding shower, still trembling violently.

After that, Christine knew she wasn't going to sleep no matter how hard she tried. By this time it was past two o'clock so she made a pot of coffee and sat up in her living room with all the lights on. It was silly, she told herself, acting like a girl who'd just seen a horror movie, but she felt her skin crawl each time the floor creaked.

She was exhausted come morning, so much so that she hardly could make herself put on her work clothes. She didn't even bother with makeup, even though she hated how pasty and drawn her face was from her all-nighter. She went to her favorite coffee shop and order an extra-extra large and a box of donuts.

"Hello, miss," said a man's slightly accented voice. "Did you drop this?" He was holding out her scarf.

"Oh - thank you," Christine said. She looked up at him and swallowed a little gulp. He was very, very attractive. His eyes were dark and chocolatey and he had a lovely warm smile that made her insides feel fizzy. "Uh. Do you want to sit down?"

"I'd love to." He lowered himself into the chair next to her, flashing that smile again. He offered his hand. "I'm Nadir."

"Christine." She took his hand, hoping she wasn't blushing as hard as she thought she was.

"You look tired," he said kindly. "Had a late night?"

Christine ran a hand through her hair. "You could say that, yeah." She glanced down at her watch. "Ah! No! Shit! I'm late!" She half jumped out of her chair and promptly went sprawling on the floor. She just lay there for a moment, she had absolutely no energy to get up. Nadir took her hand and pulled her to her feet. He brushed the hair out of her eyes.

"Want a ride?" he said.

She hesitated, after all she hardly knew the man. "Please." She tried to stand unaided and then her foot turned under her. "Aaaah! Damn it." She grabbed at his shoulder. "Twisted my ankle."

He chuckled and put an arm around her waist. "Lean on me." He supported her outside and helped her into the front seat of his car. He gave her a little salute. "Where to, miss?"

"36th," Christine said. "I work at a private practice - intern, actually."

"Doctor?"

"Mm. Psychiatrist." She tapped his forehead. "Head shrink in training."

"Oh? Get any interesting cases?"

"Some, yeah, but I don't really get to do much besides an initial interview." She shrugged a little and winced as her ankle popped back into place. "Although there was this one guy..." She glanced over at him. He was looking at her with interest. "No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't be talking about this." She shook her head and looked away. "Patient confidentiality." She sighed and then said wryly, "Although there's not much to be confidential about. I know absolutely nothing about him. The man has no record." She folded her arms across the seat belt. "He doesn't even have a _last name_."

The car jerked to a halt. Christine yelped, lurching forward in her seat. "Wha - what -"

"Sorry," Nadir said tightly, starting the car again. "Is his name Erik, by any chance?"

"Yes, actually," Christine said. "How do you -"

"I was the officer on the case of the kidnapping of Luciana Westing. That man is insane."

"Who'd've thought it?" Christine murmured.

"I'm sorry, Christine. But for heaven's sake, stay away from him. He'll do you no good. You probably think you could make your career counseling a high profile case like him, but that is the worst thing you could do to yourself. He is absolutely insane."

"I can take care of myself," Christine said. "I am an adult, you know. Besides, I don't care about whether or not I can make my career, I have a job and I intend to do it well. Now if you don't mind, please let me out here and I can walk the rest of the way."

"Christine..."

"_If it's not too much trouble_."

He sighed and pulled the car to a stop. "So I guess this means I won't be getting your number, then?" He was really excellent at puppy dog eyes, Christine thought sourly. She pulled out a little slip of paper and pressed it into his hand.

"Don't call before nine-thirty, I won't be home. Doesn't mean I forgive you, though," she added, not wanting to seem too easily won over.

"I'll make it up to you," he said.

"I bet you will." She found herself grinning. "Now are you gonna give me yours or not?"

He handed a business card to her. "How can I not?" He smiled at her and pulled away.

Christine put the card in her pocket and bounced on her toes as she walked to work. It was actually really nice to be hit on for once by a guy who seemed pretty decent and knew that her eyes weren't on her boobs. She twisted her hair up out of her face, dropped her briefcase in her office, and knocked on Richard's door. His face lit up when he saw her.

"Hey, Chris. Glad you stopped by, I just wanted to tell you that I had a really nice time last night."

"Wha - oh, yeah, I did too." Damn, she'd nearly forgotten about that. "Listen, Richard, you told me to contact you if I got any more info on the Erik case? I was looking last night and I...well, I didn't find much, but at least we've got more than we started with. I copied the article off and put it in the file. Do you want to see it?" She pulled the file out of her bag and held it out to him.

He hardly looked at it. "Oh, yeah, just leave it on my desk, would you?" She moved to place it on top of the stack of papers and he caught her hand. She cheed the inside of her cheek in anxiety; another awkward conversation was imminent. "Chris, I really love spending time with you." She made a noncommittal mumble of agreement. "And I was wondering if you'd want to go out with me again...maybe this Saturday?"

Christine tried to disentangle her hand. "Oh, gosh, Richard, that's really nice of you, but, uh, on Saturday I have this thing..." She trailed off, backing for the door. "You know, my...cousin is in town and I would miss it if I could but, you know, family..." She laughed nervously.

To say he looked disappointed would be an enormous understatement. "Oh, well that sucks. I don't want to make you skip your cousin's thing, though."

_THANK GOD. _"Yeah, I'm sorry, Richard. Maybe another time?" Ah, why had she said that? "I'll - er - I'll call you, okay?" She took off before she could get herself into any more trouble. "I'll just go, now." She all but ran out of the office and back to hers. She took the box of donuts from her bottom desk drawer and ate one, scowling. She had to make a plan to keep Richard at bay. Maybe she could get Meg to take him out...No, that would just be cruel; Meg had standards - low standards maybe, but standards.

Her phone rang. She picked it up. "Hello?"

"Miss Daae?" It was the receptionist. "There's a man here to see you. Says his name is Mr. Dester. Do you know who he is?"

"No," Christine said, frowning. "What does he look like?"

"Tall, wears a suit, funny looking eyes..."

"Um." Her throat suddenly felt very dry. "Send him up."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." She hung up and leaned back in her chair, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Her pulse was racing. Was it who she thought...?

A shadow passed over the frosted glass window. She flinched and bit her cheek. The door creaked open.

Erik stood in her doorway, a tall hat pushed low on his forehead and an unnervingly realistic painted mask on his face. He swept a bow, flourishing his coat. "Miss Daae," he purred. "How delightful to see you."

"How did you get here?" she said. "I mean - you were in a prison cell. I mean -"

"I paid my bail," he said, amused. "It wasn't too difficult."

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you." His voice deepened, sweet and seductive.

"Um." Her skin prickled. "Why?"

"I wanted another opportunity to talk to you, Miss Daae."

"_Why?_" Christine demanded.

He shrugged. "I was curious." He sat down in the chair across from her, steepling his fingers over his nose. "I'm curious about you, Christine."

She swallowed hard. "Ummmmmmm." Go away, she pleaded, go away, but she couldn't make herself say the words. He reached across the table and pushed a curl from her face. She jerked back. "You need to leave," she said, steadying her breathing. "Get out of my office before I call security."

He stood and smiled down at her. "Goodbye, Christine," he said. She shivered, but this time not from fear. She was still shaking after he had gone, nearly feeling sick. She put her head down on her desk and pressed the call button on the phone.

"Marianne?" she said. "Um, could you bring me up a tea? And by tea I mean two beers. No, I mean six beers. I mean...is there a bar anywhere near here?"

"Are you alright?"

"No," Christine said pathetically. "Is there a bar?"

"Miss Daae, usually I would send you the directions, but in all honesty I don't think you should be drinking right now."

She groaned and hung up. She needed a drink. She needed ten drinks.

Christine made it through the rest of the day by eating donuts and stealing from her secret stash of chocolate. At home she sat down with a glass of wine and withdrew Nadir's card from her coat pocket. She twisted it between her fingers, and then pulled out her cell and dialed the number.

He picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Hey," she said. "It's Christine."

"Christine!" He sounded genuinely pleased to talk to her. "What's up?"

"I was just wondering if you were doing anything tonight?" She winced. Did that sound too desperate?

"No, not a thing." She could tell he was smiling. "Did you want to do something?"

"You wanna get a drink? Or something?"

"I'd love to. Pick you up...ten-ish?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure!" She couldn't believe she'd actually scored a date with a guy she liked. Easily.

"See you then."

Christine hung up and ran her hands through her hair, smiling dreamily for a long moment before ditching her wine and running for the shower.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: God, I am so sorry this took so long. I had so much to do and it just kept slipping my mind. I am a little iffy on the character development as yet, but hey, it's only the second chapter. =D (I'm fond of creepy Erik though.)**

**MaxAnyaElphie and Elainejoy: I'm glad you noticed the parallels between Erik and Christine and Harley and the Joker, that's exactly what I was going for! So obviously my inspiration did come from Batman TAS. :3**

**Thank you so much to everyone for your lovely reviews, it makes a girl feel all warm and fuzzy inside! Hope you like this chapter and I am so sorry for the late update. **


	3. Taking Chances

"_Christine Marie Daae_!"

Christine winced and held her cell phone away from her ear. Her best friend's voice rose half an octave with every syllable of Christine's name.

"_You went on a date and didn't tell me_?"

"Maybe?" Christine held the phone out again in preparation. But Meg didn't scream this time.

"Well, did you at least wear the heels?"

The heels - or "the hooker boots", as Christine had dubbed them - were a gift from Meg on Christine's twenty-first birthday. They were six inches of stiletto death. Christine, who could hardly walk in one-inch heels, had hidden them in the back of her closet. Constantly wearing flats might mean she had to stare at a man's shoulder all night, but she'd rather deal with that than with falling over her own feet.

"Not exactly..."

Meg sighed dramatically. "Well, I suppose it's not the end of the world...as long as you give me all the details! What's his name?"

"Hmm." Christine rolled on her back. "Nadir Kahn. He's a policeman -"

"Ooooh! You're dating a cop?"

"Mmhmm."

"What's he look like?"

"Oooh...tall, dark hair, and really pretty eyes..."

"When're you gonna see him again?"

Christine grinned and sat up. "Saturday we're going out for lunch."

"D'you like him? A lot?"

"I just met him yesterday, Meg!" She giggled. "But yeah...yeah, I do."

Meg gave a little squeak of joy. "Oh, Chrissy, that's wonderful! I'm so happy for you!" Christine could hear Meg starting to bounce up and down. "You sound really happy!"

"I am." Christine smiled to herself and then caught sight of her clock. "Oh_ shit_! Meggie, I've got to go, I'm gonna be late!"

"Okay, bye, sweetie!"

Christine snapped the phone shut and stuffed her feet in a pair of flats. She grabbed her coat from the hook by the door and tramped downstairs. She waved down a cab, gave the driver her work address, and arrived with half a minute left.

"Hey, Christine. Are you all right? You look a bit out of breath."

She smiled distractedly, shuffling through the files on her desk. "I'm fine, Richard."

"Right. Well...give me a call if you need anything."

"Uh-huh."

He was still there. "Okay."

She looked up and her smile faded slightly. "Did you want something?"

Richard rubbed a hand over his head. "I was just wondering if you'd...want to do something on Saturday? I mean..."

"Oh." Christine found the file she wanted and spread it out on her desk. "I'm sorry, Richard, but I've already got plans for Saturday." She tried to smile again, wanting to let him down as gently as possible. "Actually, I've got a date."

"Ah." He stood up straight. "Right. Of course." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Well, I guess I'll go now."

"I really am sorry."

"Nah. It's not that important." Richard grimaced and left very quickly.

Christine sighed and smoothed a hand over her papers. She felt pretty bad. Richard wasn't that bad of a guy, a little puppyish, perhaps, but genuinely sweet...and awfully persistent. She just wished there was a gentler way to let him down.

As the day wore on, Christine began to wonder why she'd been asked to come in today at all. There weren't any new patients - not any for a psych intern, anyway - and the only case she'd been assigned to had somehow slipped through the grasp of the law. Maybe she'd take a nap...She yawned, jaw cracking. A nap actually sounded lovely.

She stacked her papers into the desk drawers and laid her head down with another yawn. Lord, she was tired. She hadn't really realized it before; college had made her a master at fending off drowsiness. Pale early-winter sunlight filtered in through her window, gently warming her face. She sighed, squirmed into a more comfortable position, and then she was asleep.

* * *

><p>Christine woke several hours later, with her face sore from where it had rested against the side of her desk. She rubbed her cheek and made a face. The clock on the wall read ten after five. Sighing in relief, Christine swung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the elevator. She ran a hand through her hair. It had grown gradually frizzier and frizzier as the day wore on and now she looked like she'd been struck by lightening.<p>

She tapped her fingers impatiently against her thigh. The elevator seemed slower than usual. At last the doors opened to the lobby and Christine hurried from the building and into the rain outside.

Muttering under her breath, Christine raised her bag over her head and made a run for it. She waved down a cab, feeling very tired for no particular reason. She leaned her head against the cold glass of the window.

"Miss? This is your stop."

"Oh - sorry." Christine shook her head groggily and forked over several bills. "Thanks." She heaved herself out of the cab and up to her apartment, where she collapsed on the sofa.

She leaned her head against the back of it and closed her eyes.

* * *

><p>She soon dozed off again, and woke with a jump when the phone rang. Rubbing a cramp in her neck, she fumbled for the phone. "Hello?"<p>

"Christine? It's Nadir. I'm sorry to be calling so late -"

Christine sat up, quite wide awake now. "No, no, it's fine. It's fine. What's up?"

"Well. Er. I'm afraid I've got some bad news, I -"

"You can't make it Saturday?"

He laughed. "No, no..."

There was something very strange about the tone of his voice. "What's wrong?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"Nadir?"

"My detectives have received some new evidence recently...about Erik." He sighed. Christine chewed her lip. "I wish I didn't have to tell you this."

"_What is it_, Nadir?"

"He's going to come after you. We don't know when, and we don't know where, but he is. So please, be careful."

"I didn't know you cared so much," she joked halfheartedly.

Nadir seemed to ignore that. "We can put you into witness protection, if you want, and take you somewhere safe..."

"No, it's okay. Don't worry." She knew she should mention Erik's appearance at her office the day before, but for some reason she couldn't bring herself to. "But thanks for the offer."

"Sooooo...are we still on for Saturday?"C

She grinned in spite of herself. "You know we are."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I have nothing to say for myself. I am SO SO SORRY. Especially since this chapter is really just filler...I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. But next week (and yes, I will update every week from now on, I SWEAR) we'll get into the good stuff. Extortion, abduction, arson...etc. Can you humor me until next Friday?**

****Also, I'm looking for a cover for this story...anyone have any ideas?**


	4. The Angel

**** Two Weeks Later ****

He crept up the stairs and picked the lock to her door. Her apartment was dark and quiet.

He moved toward her room and eased the door open. Hardly daring to breathe, he edged closer to her bed. He could just make out the outline of her face, and her fair hair was a bright spot in the darkness. He reached out and stroked her cheek. She didn't stir. He pulled a chair up beside her bed and simply sat there, looking at her.

But looking wasn't quite enough for tonight.

He brought his chair closer to her bedside. She mumbled something and shifted and he froze, but she just turned over and tucked her arm under her head. Her hair spilled over her pillow and arm. He twined a strand of it around his finger.

Lord, but she was beautiful.

It wouldn't be long now. He had been coming to her apartment often enough that he had the entire layout memorized. It was just a matter of waiting until time was right.

But he'd have to get Nadir out of the way first. Damn that man. He was far too clever for his own good, and he was far too close to _her. _He'd seen them together, how she laughed and smiled, how she let him put his arm about her, when she should be _his. __  
><em>

"Christine..." he murmured.

* * *

><p>Christine awoke with a start, her heart beating a mile a minute. She switched on her bedside lamp and stared around her room. No one was there.<p>

"It was just a dream," she said to herself. "Just a dream."

But she climbed out of bed anyway and made herself a cup of hot chocolate. She sat down at the kitchen table, tracing idle patterns in the wood grain. Maybe there was something wrong with her - maybe Nadir's warning had made her paranoid. Surely Erik couldn't break into her home. She was just overworked and tired and worried about nothing, that was all.

Christine took a sip of the hot chocolate. She wouldn't mention her dream to Nadir, she decided, it would just alarm him. There was really nothing to worry about. She finished her hot chocolate, turned out the light and went back to bed. Her eyelids felt heavy, but just as she was drifting off, she noticed in the back of her mind that her desk chair was pushed in at an odd angle, and for a moment she thought she caught a glimpse of golden eyes at her window. But then sleep claimed her, and by the time morning came, she had forgotten she'd seen anything.

* * *

><p>It had been another pointless day at the office, and Christine was more than ready to go meet Nadir at her favorite coffee shop. They'd been together "officially" for nearly a month, and she was feeling pretty optimistic. This was her longest-lasting relationship since college. She was seriously falling for the man.<p>

"You're so giddy," Meg had said in shock over dinner the previous week. "It's like you're fifteen again."

Christine had shrugged and blushed, but Meg definitely had a point. She felt like she was fifteen again, and she was loving every minute of it. She gathered her bag and headed for the elevator.

She hailed a taxi in the street in front of the building. "Where to, miss?" the cabbie asked as she slid into the backseat.

She gave him the address and settled down, smiling. Her spirits lifted the farther away from the office she went.

Her cellphone rang. She pulled it out of her purse. She'd been expecting a call from Meg since two that afternoon, but the caller ID wasn't one she recognized. In irritation she flipped the phone open. "Hello?"

"Christine," said an all-too-familiar melodic voice.

"How did you get this number?" she said, trying to stop her voice from trembling.

He just laughed.

"I'm really, really sorry about this, miss," said the cabbie, and took a turn down an unfamiliar street. Christine yanked at the door handle, but it was locked. She tried to unfasten her seatbelt, but it was like it had been welded together. The cab pulled up while Christine was still struggling with her seatbelt. The door opened, and long gloved hands caught Christine's wrists and held them in a viselike grip. She scratched at his hands, screaming for help.

He clicked his tongue as though she was a little girl throwing a temper tantrum. "Now Christine, you really must behave yourself, we can't have you being so loud." Something glinted in the dim light - a needle. Christine let out a little whimper of fear.

"That's better," he said, and slipped the needle into her arm. "And as for you -"

Everything seemed so far away...her limbs felt heavy, like she was swimming in syrup. She couldn't fight anymore...

" - you were supposed to give her the sedative _just after _the call! I had no wish to use this on her!"

"I - I'm sorry -"

"Oh, what does it matter?"

The last thing she heard was the gunshot. Then the world went black.

* * *

><p>Erik looked down at Christine. She lay limply in his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder. Her hair smelled like strawberries. He lifted her from the cab and carried her a little ways down the alley until he reached the tallest building. He typed the code into the keypad and the door slid open.<p>

Ms. Gabrielson glanced up from her paperwork when he entered. She frowned. "What did you do to that girl, Erik?"

"Things did not exactly go as planned," he said. "Would you take Christine up to the Rose Room? See that she is well cared for."

"Of course."

Erik set Christine down on a stretcher. She was a little pale, but as lovely as ever. Her golden hair spread around her in tangled curls. She looked almost angelic. He smoothed her hair away from her face and let his thumb trail down over her cheek and her lips.

"Erik," scolded Ms. Gabrielson. "We need to take the poor thing upstairs. She needs to rest, and then maybe a hot bath when she wakes up. You need to leave for a while."

He scowled. "Oh - very well." He looked at her for a moment more, then turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

* * *

><p>Christine woke with one hell of a headache. She sat up slowly, pressing the heels of her hands to her forehead. She tried not to panic as the events of last night came rushing back to her. She took a slow, deep breath and then looked around.<p>

There was a large window to the left. Christine climbed off the bed and pushed it open and was struck by a wave of vertigo. She was at least ten stories up. She slammed the window shut. No fire escape. Okay. So there was no getting out that way.

She scanned the room. There was only one door. It was a very _pretty _room, colored in pink and cream and costing probably about twice as much as her annual salary, but someone had gone to great lengths to make sure she couldn't get out easily. And she really, really didn't like that.

A closet stood to the right of the bed. Christine opened it and rifled through the clothes. They were all her size. She was getting more and more creeped out by the moment.

Christine shut the closet and then made for the door. She opened it carefully and sneaked down the stairs. Somewhere, someone was playing an organ. She vaguely recognized Bach's Toccata and Fuge in D minor. She kept moving as quietly as possible. The music was steadily growing louder, and now it didn't sound like Bach any more. It was something just as dark, but sadder, almost desperate, like the music itself wept.

She couldn't help herself. She was drawn to it. The music got louder and louder until Christine pushed aside a door and found the source: A thin man, dressed all in black, sat at a pipe organ that dominated the room. And although she knew who he was, she couldn't stop moving closer and closer to him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm not so sure about this chapter. It might end up getting re-written later...but in any case, would anybody like to volunteer to be a beta for this story? Or can anybody recommend one? It would mean a lot, thanks. =D**

**Love,**

***Miri**


	5. The Lion's Den

Nadir ran a hand through his hair until it stood up in spikes all over his head. He hadn't slept in a good twelve hours, ever since Christine had been reported missing. He knew Erik had taken her and he'd already sent a few men out to question her whereabouts the night before. There was only one more thing he could do.

He picked up his cell phone from his desk, palming it anxiously. He took a deep breath and dialed the number before he could change his mind.

"Hello?" said a cautious voice on the other line.

"Hello, Erik."

"Nadir." Now he sounded amused. "It's been a long time, old friend. To what do I owe this...pleasure?"

"Why did you take her?"

Erik laughed. It was unhinged, and it made the hairs on the back of Nadir's neck stand up.

"Christine, I expect you mean?"

"Who else?"

There was a pause. "You're a clever man, Nadir," he said at last. "I'm sure you have an idea as to that."

And that didn't sound ominous at all. "Bring her back."

He laughed again and this time it was even more unhinged. "You know I can't do that."

"I'll find you, you know. I won't let you do to her what you did to Luciana."

"I won't hurt her, Nadir. I promise you that."

And that means so much coming from you, Nadir thought bitterly. "That doesn't mean I won't stop trying to get her back," he said.

"Oh, I'd be insulted if you didn't." Erik chuckled. The line went dead. Nadir swore and slammed the phone down on his desk. He realized that he'd probably just flouted several rules of protocol - not to mention common sense - with that phone call, but at the moment he didn't particularly care. For some strange reason, he had thought calling Erik might assure him of Christine's safety. It didn't make any sense whatsoever, but it was something he'd been able to cling to. And now he was sure he had to get Christine back before Erik went completely mad - or before _she _did.

* * *

><p>Christine stood directly behind Erik, her breath coming in little whispering gasps between her lips. He kept playing, seemingly oblivious . She was transfixed. Her eyes drifted to a close. In the back of her mind, she noticed when the music stopped, but she was too far away to really care.<p>

His hand closed over hers and he drew her down beside him. "Christine," he said quietly.

At the sound of his voice her heart began to race and she tried to pull away. But he held her back and began to sing under his breath. Something about the music ensnared her and she couldn't move. Her heart rate slowed and she leaned unconsciously against him. He leaned his cheek in her hair and put an arm around her. He kept singing until she relaxed entirely into his arms.

"Now, Christine...can you be a good girl?"

She didn't reply. He stroked her hair and hummed for a moment. She sunk deeper into that dreamlike state, his breath warm on her neck.

"Don't try to leave me, hmm? Just...stay a while. Not for long, not for a horribly long time...just a little while? Don't leave poor old lonely Erik by himself. Show a little pity, my love. Show poor Erik some compassion."

Humming again, he gathered her into his lap. "Did you like my music, Christine? Hmm? Yes?" He smiled against her hair. "Good." He placed a kiss to her temple and began to play again, a seductive melody that made Christine tremble. Her eyes shot open and she wrenched herself from Erik's arms. She nearly toppled the bench as she backed away from him. He watched her through his mask with such intensity that he didn't even seem to be blinking.

"Why did you bring me here?" Christine said. Her voice was thin and high, almost cracking.

Erik smiled indulgently. "To my house or to this room in particular?"

He was toying with her. Christine glowered at him, telling herself she refused to be to play his games. She was a psychiatrist, for Christ's sake. She made her living dealing with people like him.

"Isn't it obvious, my dear?"

She just stared at him.

"I brought you here because I love you."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So it's another short chapter...sorry 'bout that. But besides that, I'd like to thank everybody who's reviewed this from the bottom of my heart. The feedback means so much to be and I hope it's helping me become a better writer. =D And secondly, I'm not sure when, but this story will be undergoing some editing to fix some problems I have with it. Nothing particularly major at this point, but I thought I'd let you know. =)**


	6. The Stolen Child

There was a very long pause. Then Christine squeaked, "What?"

Erik looked a little hurt. "Erik has said he loves you?" he repeated, his voice strangely uneven. Something flickered behind the mania in his eyes and for a moment he looked almost uncertain.

"Um." Christine took in a deep breath. She had to keep calm. She steadied her voice before speaking again. "Why?"

He regained control so quickly that Christine wasn't sure what she'd seen. "It would be easier to define why I breathe, darling Christine. You are so very beautiful." He walked toward her. Christine had to force herself not to take a step back. He tucked a curl behind her ear. Christine swallowed hard.

"Erik, please. You have to be rational. You hardly know me. How can you love me?"

"But that's where you're wrong, my dear. I know everything about you. I know that you graduated from high school at sixteen, I know that you originally wanted to study music in college, but switched to sociology and psychiatry, and I know that right now your father is in the hospital." He said this all very simply, almost in a monotone, like he was just stating facts, but it made a chill run down Christine's spine. He stared at her with those disconcerting eyes and she wondered if she was imagining the threat that hung unspoken in the air between them.

"_How_?" she said hoarsely.

He just smiled. "Well, I've been following you, of course. I first saw you when you were nineteen, in that piano bar where you were working. You're quite the musician, my dear."

Her mouth felt very dry. "That was... that was nearly seven years ago."

"Yes." He smiled.

All Christine wanted to do was shrink as small as she could and hide somewhere no one would ever find her. But she forced herself to stay put. "So you've been following me for seven years." She made her voice calm and conversational. "Why haven't I noticed before?"

Erik studied her without blinking. "I'm a clever man, my dear. I made sure you never saw me- that _no one _ever saw me."

She swallowed, but if anything, her mouth and throat felt dryer. Erik just kept smiling. "Why - why did you wait so long? To do anything?"

He smiled again, but it wasn't a happy smile. It was like he was just trying to unnerve her now. "I had to bide my time, move slowly. I went to quite a lot of trouble to plan that arrest, you know."

"You _wanted _to end up in prison just to talk to me?"

"I knew I wouldn't be in prison for long. I hadn't done anything they had evidence for."

_Oh, dear lord_. Christine sank on the floor and put her head in her hands. _Why was I so _stupid_? __Why didn't I take Nadir's warning seriously?_

"Christine?" There was something else in his tone now, maybe even genuine emotion. "Are you all right?"

"No," said Christine, raising her head to stare defiantly at him, "I am most definitely _not _all right."

* * *

><p><em>"Come away, O human child!<br>__To the waters and the wild  
><em>_With a faery hand in hand,  
><em>_For the world's more full of weeping that you can understand."_

He was singing again. He'd started singing periodically the moment she'd left the music room and returned to her own room, as though he was trying to lure her out again. Christine vaguely recognized the lyrics - _it sounds like a Yeats poem - _but she'd never heard the tune before. His voice called to her in a way she couldn't describe and could barely resist. She slammed her door shut and locked it, hoping that would dull the sound somewhat, but she could still hear him clearly.

She pressed her hands to her ears. Everything about that song called her, no matter how hard she tried to fight it. And that scared the hell out of her. It didn't seem possible that his voice could affect her in such a way. He was charismatic, yes...but surely she should be able keep her wits about her. She didn't want to think what might happen if she let herself fall into that trance his music brought on again.

There was a soft knock on her door. Christine started, and then said, "Who is it?"

"My name is Emilie, miss," said a girl's voice. "The maestro sent me to help you prepare for dinner."

Christine unlocked the door and let the girl in. She was about Christine's height, but she couldn't have been older than seventeen or eighteen. Her hair was light brown and pinned severely back from her pretty face.

"Help me prepare for dinner?" Christine asked with a frown.

"Help you choose the right clothes," said Emilie. She hesitated and looked expectantly at Christine. "Miss? Wouldn't you like to see your choices?"

"No," Christine said. She sat down on the bed and forced a smile. "You pick something, Emilie. I'm sure you're much better at this than I am."

"Well...all right," Emilie said. She went to the wardrobe and rifled through a few dresses before drawing one out. "What about this?"

"That's fine." Christine picked at a loose thread in the comforter.

"You aren't looking." Emilie sounded a little upset. Christine looked up. The dress Emilie held out to her was rosy pink with three-quarter length sleeves and a loose, flowy sort of skirt.

"It's pretty."

"Shall I do your hair, miss?"

"Oh, no, it's okay," Christine said. Emilie's face fell.

"But, miss, you have such lovely hair!"

Christine smiled for real this time. "Well, I guess it couldn't hurt?"

Emilie smiled back. "No, I don't think so, miss." She took up a hairbrush from the vanity and began to gently run it through Christine's hair.

"You don't have to call me 'miss'," said Christine. "My name's Christine."

Emilie paused in her brushing. "Oh no, it wouldn't be proper."

"It's just the two of us," Christine prodded. "It's okay if you want to call me Christine."

Emilie began to brush her hair again. "Well, I suppose it would be all right - if it's just the two of us - Christine."

Christine grinned.

Emilie brushed Christine's hair until it lay soft and shiny down her back. Then, starting at the crown of her head, she braided it in one long plait.

"You look so pretty," Emilie said softly. She gave Christine a mirror. Christine stared at herself and tugged self-consciously at the end of her braid. Emilie glanced over at the clock above the armoire in the corner. "It's nearly eight, mi - Christine. You should get dressed."

Christine put the mirror down on the bed. "Do I have to?"

"Not unless you don't want to make the maestro very angry."

Christine sighed. "I have a feeling that's not something I want."

"It's not something anybody wants, so we're all very careful. But sometimes we can't avoid it." Emilie smiled, but it was more like a grimace. "Go on and get dressed, and then head to the dining room. It's on the second floor. It's the biggest room there, you can't miss it."

"Right," Christine murmured. "Thanks."

Emilie bobbed a little curtsy and left, pulling the door closed behind her.

Christine slid off the bed and pulled on the dress Emilie had picked out. It was light and soft and comfortable. She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes till eight.

Here she was, held against her will, about to have dinner with her kidnapper. Even in her head, it sounded stupid. Although it didn't seem like she had any choice. And it was probably in her best interest not to anger the man who could easily kill her at any time. Christine took a deep breath, steeling herself against whatever was to come. Then she opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Bit of a late update due to technical difficulties. :( I hope you liked this chapter, though. Thanks a million to my beta, gravity01. Your nitpickiness and insight are greatly appreciated. =D**


	7. Weave a Deadly Spell

Erik tapped his fingers on the table idly. The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. He kept glancing toward the door every few seconds, but Christine had yet to appear. Eight o'clock came and passed. Erik scowled at the clock. Finally, at seven minutes after eight, the door creaked open and Christine put her head around the door. Her hair shone like liquid gold in the light, but the face below it was entirely colorless.

"Come in, my dear." She jumped and stared at him. He smiled. "I don't bite."

Hesitantly, she pushed aside the door and entered. She wore a soft pink dress that restored some color to her face. She looked absolutely stunning - although, to be fair, Christine would look stunning in a potato sack, but that was a moot point. She sat in the chair across from his, her blue eyes wary. She picked up her wine glass an inspected it.

"I haven't put anything in it, you know."

She jumped again, as though she had forgotten he was there. She didn't take her eyes off him as she took a sip.

"You don't trust me, do you?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You kidnapped me. Why on earth would I trust you?"

Erik tilted his head in acknowledgement. "I suppose you have a fair point there."

"Hmm." She took a much larger drink of wine and then she placed the glass a little shakily on the table, twirling the stem between her fingers. The thick red liquid sloshed up the sides of the glass and her eyes followed its movement. "May I ask you something?" she said.

"Of course."

"Why do you wear that mask?"

She stared at him. The soft light smoothed over her, casting gentle shadows on her face. _How lovely she is. _Her eyes hadn't moved from his. _I wish she wouldn't look at me like that. _"I am afraid that you have asked the only question I cannot answer, my dear," he said at last. "At least, perhaps not the way you would like. What's behind my mask - it can't be called a face. I would spare you that sight."

"Oh," she said. She looked away at last, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

There was a long pause.

"Eat something," he said, trying to break the silence. He gestured awkwardly to the plates full of steaming, delicious-smelling food.

"I'm not hungry." She finished her wine and stared at the glass.

"Eat something," he said. A slight edge crept into his voice.

"I'm not hungry," she repeated. She crossed her arms, accidentally tugging the neckline of her dress a touch lower than before. Erik looked away quickly. Christine stared passed him and into the flame of a candle - he could see it reflected in her eyes. He couldn't help but take the opportunity to study her when her attention was elsewhere - the delicate point of her chin, how her top lip was slightly fuller than the bottom, the shadow her eyelashes cast when she glanced down and then over to him. He didn't look away this time and met her gaze head on. She blushed and shifted in her seat and turned away. Her hand tensed on the table, making her bones stand out from underneath the creamy texture of her skin.

He reached across the table and laid his hand atop hers, folding his fingers across her small palm and anchoring it there. Her eyes widened and she drew in a shallow breath, swallowing hard. She tried to pull her hand away but he wouldn't let her and in the in the end she left it there. He could feel the warmth of her skin through his glove and her pulse fluttering underneath his fingers.

"Christine," he said.

She shivered and lowered her eyes. With a ring of a little bell, Erik summoned a maid to clear away the dishes. Neither of them had touched the food and the maid looked quizzical. Erik shooed her away. He rose to his feet and moved to stand behind Christine's chair. He could hear her breathing hitch when he put his hand on her shoulder.

"Erik, please," she began, but he never gave her time to finish and started to hum a little melody that silenced her. Her eyes fluttered to a close and he grasped her hand and pulled her from her chair.

"Come with me," he said, and he led her to the music room. Christine followed docilely, offering no more resistance than a doll. There was color in her cheeks now, and she had a dazed smile on her face. Erik sat her down on the piano bench and he slid in beside her. With hardly an inch of space between them, Erik was finding that breathing took a great deal of effort. He could smell her shampoo and see a small beauty mark beside her ear. Her hands lay in her lap.

He forced his gaze away from her and to the keys. He began to play a simple melody, humming along aimlessly. Christine's eyes drifted closed. Her head leaned to the side, her hair just brushed his cheek. His hands stumbled and he swallowed hard. Her eyes fluttered open and for a minute she stared at him. Then they went wide and she jerked backwards.

"What are you _doing _to me?" she said. "What are you _doing_?" He didn't respond. She turned and hurried from the room, closing the door with a bang.

* * *

><p>Christine leaned against her closed door, breathing heavily. She'd run up the stairs and her heart felt like it was going to beat its way out of her chest. She was still half-terrified he would come in at any second and she wouldn't be able to run this time and something would happen. Something she couldn't stop or control, or...Her head spun. It felt like all her thoughts were ten times louder than usual, like they were screaming in all capital letters.<p>

She walked slowly to her bed, sat down, put her head in her hands. _Oh God oh God oh God OH GOD. _

She had to get out. There were no two ways about it. There had to be some way...maybe Emilie would help? There had to be a back entrance, at the least.

Christine curled in a fetal position on the bed and took in several long, deep breaths. She put her face in the pillow, looking for some comfort. It smelled of an entirely foreign detergent and homesickness crashed into her so hard she could barely breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears, but they leaked out anyway and she let out a sob.

She wanted to go to sleep, and then to wake up to find that this had all been a very bad dream. She wanted to wake up in her own bed and smell coffee from the kitchenette. She wanted to walk sleepily out of the bedroom and see Nadir at the table with a cup of coffee and a newspaper, and for him to look up and smile at her and say "Good morning, sleepyhead" and kiss her on the temple as he handed her a mug. She wanted...she wanted.

She didn't know how long she lay there, crying the sort of sobs that wrack your entire body and leave you gasping and hiccuping for air and don't make you feel any better when you've done with them.

And she didn't hear Emilie come in and shut the door and sit beside her, but she did feel the hands stroking back her hair and stroking her face.

"Oh, miss," said Emilie. "Oh, miss, I'm so sorry."

Christine didn't say anything. She rubbed her eyes and pulled away from Emilie, who supported her shoulders as she sat up.

"This happens to all of us, miss, if it helps," Emilie said after a long silence.

Christine shook her head and pushed away the hair in her eyes. "Is there...is there anything more comfortable to wear?" she asked. Her voice rasped in her throat.

"Of course, miss." Emilie went to the wardrobe and took out a flannel nightgown. "Is this all right?"

Christine hardly looked at it. "It's fine." She unzipped the back of her dress with unsteady hands and put the nightdress over her head. Emilie hovered by the wardrobe, looking at Christine with a frown. "I'm fine," Christine said.

Emilie hugged her. Christine put her head on the other girl's shoulder and felt like crying again. Emilie was too young to be so maternal, and yet here she was rubbing Christine's back as soothingly as her own mother had. It made Christine feel horribly guilty. This poor girl had to deal with Erik for longer than she did. She couldn't have been more than seventeen. Christine pulled back and looked at Emilie. "I'll be okay," she said. "You should go to bed."

Emile smiled - it was really more of a grimace. She looked like she wanted say something but thought better of it. In the end, she said, "Sleep well, miss" and closed the door behind her.

Christine turned off the light and lay on top of the covers a long time before realizing she was cold and hugging the comforter around her. Many hours passed before she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY.**

**This chapter wasn't even beta-read because I felt so bad about not getting one out like I promised and I wanted to publish it right away. I'm sorry for any mistakes, I'll edit it later, I promise. I hope you like this short little chapter and I SWEAR it will be a much, much shorter time between updates. I am so, so sorry.**

**Much love,**

**Miri**


	8. Luciana

_17th of December, 1994_

_It's always cold in this house despite fireplaces everywhere and with the heat constantly on. Frankly I don't know any more if this is because the house doesn't conduct heat particularly well, or if it's just my head playing tricks on me again._

_Last night at dinner, Erik asked me to marry him._

_I was so scared that I didn't reply for a minute or so._

_He looked at me so...pleadingly that I almost said yes._

_Stockholm syndrome, obviously. But just because I can diagnose the symptoms doesn't mean I'm not succumbing to it._

_He said, "I love you, Luciana, I love you as I have loved no one before. I wouldn't have brought you here were that not so."_

_I think, in his own strange way, that he means it. He can't express love properly, and so he messes it up with kidnappings and whatnot. I almost feel sorry for him. And then I remember that he did take me away from my home, my family..._

_Fred must be worried sick. It's been three months._

_God, it's been three months._

_And this'll be the first Christmas I've spent without him since I was sixteen._

_I miss him._

_What am I doing sitting around here? If there's a way out I have to find it._

_I have to get home._

_And whatever detergent he uses smells really weird._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Mini chapter, while I figure out where on earth this thing is going! Thank you all for your patience and I swear I WILL be better about updates this time.**


	9. ANNOUNCEMENT!

Hi everyone!

No, this isn't an update, not really, and I'm sorry. I wanted to let you know, though, that I've started re-working this story and will hopefully start posting it in a week or so. It might be held up due to exams in January, but I hope to be, y'know, updating consistently! And anyone who is available to beta or edit would be greatly appreciated. Thanks all for your patience, my dears, and for taking the time to read this story. And happy holidays! :D

Much love,

Miri


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